


what of a wing?

by epicmoonintensifies



Category: RWBY
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27084523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epicmoonintensifies/pseuds/epicmoonintensifies
Summary: Your semblance overshadows you in more ways than one. But what are wings to a bird?
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Reader
Kudos: 30





	what of a wing?

You weren’t a faunus.  
  
That wasn’t usually something that you had to explain to people, because it was rather obvious that your wings weren’t natural. They weren’t the right size to really get a person off the ground, and yet, you flew. They were shiny, metallic, and their strange texture brought to mind something otherworldly, not smooth and familiar like the feathers of a bird’s wing. That, and, a faunus couldn’t channel aura through their animal anatomy anymore than they could through a human bodypart.  
  
But your wings were a manifestation of your semblance. The benefits of having one’s aura unlocked at such a young age: your semblance got to build and grow into something far more than most people’s would ever be, and all before you were an adult.  
  
So. When the multi-colored glint of metal shone off your wings, and when the sun made the strange feathers glitter like cut diamonds, it was very obvious that they were not the wings of a faunus.  
  
And yet, most people never realized that, like any semblance, it was adaptable. That is to say, not just for flying.  
  
Well. That was fine by you. That just meant you had a few tricks up your sleeve.  
  
Qrow didn’t ask many questions about your wings. He didn’t usually bring up semblances, if he could help it, and you didn’t blame him. You didn’t mind, either. Your wings had been a source of curiosity to other people for most of your life, and it was nice, really, to not be questioned about only those, as if they were the most important part of you. (And there was some bitterness in you about that, because the attention was entertaining when you were small, but as you got older and you realized that everyone you met thought your wings were the most interesting thing about you, some part of you began to hate them.)  
  
You knew that he thought your wings were beautiful, and that was good enough.  
  
He liked to hug you from behind and rest his head on your back, between your shoulders. He was so gentle with your wings when he did that, even though you had told him that they were tougher than anything he could do to them. But you supposed that he could hardly bring himself to treat your wings any differently than he treated the rest of you.  
  
Gentle. Kind. Admiring. He didn’t put you on a pedestal but he always treated you like you deserved more.  
  
But Qrow had never seen you in a fight before today.  
  
It was odd that he hadn’t, really. You both hunted, and you both supported each other at every turn, but you just hadn’t hunted together.  
  
Until today.  
  
You were distracted, mostly by Qrow. He was beautiful in a fight. You were used to seeing rough-and-tumble fighting; rolling in the dirt and spitting blood and coming away in shreds. But that might have been because you had been trained in Vacuo.  
  
Qrow moved like a dancer. He was magnificent. You know that he would be, but Oum, it was incredible to finally see it with your own eyes.  
  
But you needed to focus.  
  
You had handheld weapons, of course, but your wings were incredibly effective. In a fight, your feathers sharpened to obsidian-sharp edges, and your wingspan allowed you to cut down most Grimm before they came into range of your _actual_ blades.  
  
Thankfully, your swords were also guns, and while your wings kept anything from throwing off your aim, you could provide Qrow with some firepower.  
  
But you _moved_ when you realized that bullets wouldn’t be enough.  
  
Your wings provided you with incredible speed. But you knew it wouldn’t be enough, not with–  
  
Not with that Grimm closing in, bigger and faster than the others, smart enough to stay in Qrow’s blind spot, tough enough the you couldn’t shoot it down from a distance, so fast and so close too close–  
  
Your wings folded around Qrow, bladed feathers interlocking to become impenetrable, and wicked claws scraped along your primaries with a sickening shriek.  
  
Qrow turned, fast, and you only had a split second to take in his startled expression before he honed in on the Grimm you had just shielded him from. And then he was moving, the beauty of Harbinger’s swing arcing over your shoulder not lost on you as Qrow took advantage of the wall your wings provided and attacked from a more defensible position. You heard the distinctive ‘shnnk’ sound of Harbinger making its mark, and Grimm ash filled the air for just a moment before dissipating, leaving a gray stain on the ground and nothing more.

Little beowolves, barely armored, were easy pickings after that.

That night, Qrow nuzzles and flutters soft kisses at the base of each wing, activating sparks of your aura as your wings soften into something less like blades and more like down feathers at his touch. You allow it, not minding genuine appreciation of your wings. It’s well-deserved after today, you justify to yourself, feathers curling as Qrow digs his fingers into your primaries and holds tight.

“I love what you do with these,” he laughs into your skin, tired and gentle and happy.

“I love that they kept you safe,” you admit. That’s one of the kindest compliments you’ve given your wings in the past few… years.

“Ehh, no they didn’t,” he says, kissing from feather to feather and then to your lips. “ _You_ did.”


End file.
